On my return flight of my 2 ½ week trip to Italy, I lost my leather bound journal. Actually, I left it on the plane. I didn’t realize this until hours later, when I was at home. And my first thoughts were, I hope the person who finds the journal will be excited and use it.
I had this journal for two years, and recently found it in storage when I was in the states. It was given to me as a birthday gift from my mother, and had an inscription from mother to mother on the front. But the extra special meaning was I took it on my pilgrimage to various Black Madonnas in Italy. Inside the brown leather cover were images of the Black Madonna I collected throughout the week, postcards from various churches. In some ways, it had a dual purpose meaning. It was my biological mother who gave it to me, but the ultimate mother was also gifting it to me.
As I realized I lost it, I wished that whoever finds the journal would find peace and the Black Madonna will watch over them. Maybe this “losing the journal” was a serendipitous event that will bring the finder comfort or joy. Not just in the beauty of the journal, but the images inside.
There were no steamy or juicy secrets written in there. All that was written were reflections and insights gained, potential plans for the future. The rest of the journal had empty pages, futures unwritten. I hope the person who finds it writes in the journal, continues to reflect on their hopes and dreams, and chooses to lean on the Black Madonna for support and guidance.
As I prepare for this next part of my life, I realize I must let go of attachments to things, journals, ideas, and goals. In order for transformations to be made, we must let go and shed old versions of ourselves. In losing this, I am letting go of the old me’s hopes, dreams, and allowing space for the new to enter.
I took the photo above the day before I lost my journal in front of the Black Madonna in Bologna. I spent an hour sitting in front of her, free writing, journaling, and crying. Crowds of people would come in and out, but I remained seated in front of her. In between crying, a stranger looked at me and said “thank you for everything.” We didn’t talk before this or exchange glances. Maybe he just appreciated my energy and devotion. He was dressed in pink and maroon, and thought he was an image or reminder of the divine masculine. And after he said this to me and left the sanctuary, I cried even more. It was a beautiful chance encounter with a stranger that lasted minutes. Therefore, I hope the tears of comfort and realizations blessed in this journal will bring whoever finds it inspiration, joy, and protection.
It Only Takes A Smile 